


We Gather Together

by JCRGirl



Series: Joey Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCRGirl/pseuds/JCRGirl
Summary: ***REPOST FROM LJ****Here's Johnny! The boys visit Bobby for Joey's dreaded 6 month birthday and John arrives unexpectedly. Can the Winchester men move past the events of the last year to form a new relationship?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Joey Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779250
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	We Gather Together

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp for my Fate Verse. Set five months after the end of that fic. Title from the Christian hymn by Adrianus Valerius.

“Sam, if you don’t get out my kitchen, I’m gonna fill you full of buckshot.”

Joey, held securely in Dean’s lap at the kitchen table, squealed, causing Rumsfeld to lift his head curiously from its resting place on his paws. Joey’d found his voice a few weeks earlier and reveled in making sure everyone knew. Bobby turned to look at his grandson and rolled his eyes upward.

“Not in any place vital,” he murmured at the baby. Joey squealed again, small body shaking spastically in his glee.

“Wow, Grandpa Bobby.” Dean managed through chuckles, exchanging a teasing look with his equally amused brother. “I think you just got told off by a six month old.”

As soon as the words passed his lips, Dean’s mouth tried in vain to chase them down, doing its best imitation of a fish out of water. Sam’s openly happy face fell just like any time that Joey’s age was mentioned recently. Dean noticed it right after the answer to their often asked question of ‘how old’ changed from four months to five months. With each passing day, Sam’s mood was increasingly sullen. He was anxious and nervous all the time and overprotective of Joey in a way he’d never been before. He barely ate when Dean was home and Dean had a feeling Sam didn’t eat at all on the nights Dean worked. Dark circles under clouded hazel eyes told the truth about how little sleep Sam was getting, despite his vehement assurances to the contrary.

They’d come to spend Thanksgiving with Bobby, Dean calling in favors to get an extended weekend off work. He fervently hoped that Sam would relax in a setting he’d always considered safe and it seemed to be working. Since arriving the day before, Sam appeared to be calmer and more at peace, playing with Joey and Dean on the floor of the study, reviewing the latest additions to Bobby’s book collection, and devilishly irritating their host with cooking advice while Bobby prepared them their holiday meal. That is until Dean’s reminder of Joey’s impending age – six months on Sunday.

“He’s a Winchester,” Bobby replied without missing a beat, wary eyes on Sam’s expression. Dean wasn’t the only one that noticed the tension Sam was exuding.

Dean’s witty comeback, sure to erase the worry-deadened look in his brother’s eyes, was on the tip of his tongue when Rumsfeld scrambled to its feet, choker chain tinkling and body rigid. Dean could make out a rumble in the distance, just turning on the long, curved driveway that led from the road to Bobby’s house, but it was unmistakable. Sam’s expression shuttered closed in an instant and his gaze locked with Dean’s. He didn’t need to ask if Sam recognized the sound. Sam probably knew it better than Dean ever could, having spent the majority of his teenage years listening to it, accompanied by the purr of the Impala, through various building walls as he was left behind again to wait for a family that may never return. 

“Bobby?” Dean swiveled in his seat, turning Joey around to press against his chest. The older man’s face was a mixture of apology and horror.

“What does he know?” Sam’s voice was devoid of emotion, a cold mask settled over his already stressed face, and Dean shivered. Brakes protesting their use heralded the arrival of the truck at the front of the house. The Rottweiler cautiously moved to the entrance of the kitchen, claws clicking against the hardwood floor and body tensely alert.

“N-nothing. I don’t know why he’s here. I sure as hell didn’t invite him.”

Outside, a door in desperate need of oil creaked and slammed in rapid succession. Sam snagged the sleeve of Dean’s shirt and pulled him up from his seat, angling his tall frame to block Dean and Joey from the view of anyone entering the kitchen. He snapped his fingers twice and the large dog moved to stand at Dean’s side, hackles raised in anticipation. Dean began to protest - he was the older brother, the eternal protector. He didn’t need Sam to shield him from anything, but held his tongue at the realization that Sam trusted him to be the last line of defense for Joey, trusted him to keep Joey safe.

Heavy boots thumped up the stairs and across the aging wooden planks of Bobby’s front porch, a sound that had once brought relief and gratitude for the return of a conquering hero, but now filled the pregnant silence with dread and foreboding. Sam crowded back into Dean’s solid frame, fingers of his left hand clawing into the denim seam on the outside of his brother’s thigh. The hard lines of the gun holster snugged firmly at the small of his back pressed against the supporting arm Dean had nestled under Joey’s diapered bottom. Dean flexed his lats and obliques feeling the reassuring presence of the matching holster resting at his own back. They had become essential accessories, obligatory additions to their daily wardrobe, since Joey came into their lives. The line they walked everyday between the easy normality of the new life they strived to raise their son in and the necessary evils of the old life they relied on to keep him safe was not fine, but razor-edged.

The front door opened and closed, the new arrival familiar enough with the home and its owner to enter without permission, and Sam’s fingers tightened in Dean’s jeans. Dean longed to place a reassuring hand on the younger man’s tense shoulder, but was hesitant to break the protective cage his arms had created around the baby held within. Joey’s too wise eyes flickered from Dean’s face to his father’s back. A chubby hand stretched out, bridging the distance from one brother’s chest to the other one’s back, lying lightly between the jutted wings of Sam’s shoulder blades and connecting the small family. 

Sam took a slow breath, forcing the inhale and exhale to calm and deepen, at the slight pressure on his spine. Fingers unclenched from rough fabric, gently squeezing the muscle beneath before releasing, as the newcomer rounded the corner and came into view.

“Bobby, that smells amaz-“ The rest of John’s sentence died, vocal chords paralyzed by the sight of his sons.

It made sense for John to be shocked. By mutual agreement they’d left the Impala in the garage back home, deciding to take advantage of the additional space the Jeep provided and protect Dean’s baby from the wet, chilled weather of November in South Dakota.

“Boys?” John sounded sucker-punched, breathless and fragile.

“Dad.” Sam’s voice was even, but firm and Dean felt a surge of pride in his brother’s ability to keep his cool.

John’s gaze slid past Sam to fall on his older son and the small child in his arms. Dean felt as Sam’s body subtly slipped into the defensive posture they devised during his recovery that tailored to the limitations of his weaker left side.

“Dean.”

“John.” Dean’s arms tightened around Joey as the little boy wiggled, trying to see past Sam. 

“Bobby?” The man startled at the sound of his name, entranced by the three men currently having a tense stand-off in his kitchen. A silent participant in a family drama that he had no rights to by blood, but by his love of the two young men and their son.

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Do you mind watching Joey for a little while? We have some catching up to do.” The brothers’ eyes never wavered from John as Bobby took Joey from Dean, Sam missing his son’s touch the moment it was gone. Dean moved forward to stand by his side and motioned toward the table indicating they should sit. The three Winchesters paced cautiously to the kitchen table, gauging each other as they took their seats. Rumsfeld padded over to Sam and, receiving a soothing scratch behind the ear, decided to search out Bobby and Joey. John’s gaze followed the dog as he wandered off in the direction Bobby had carried the baby.

“Cute little boy. Joey, right?” Twin cold stares were his only answer. “Which one of you is the father?”

“I am.” Sam was calculating, cataloguing his father’s twitches and muscle jerks, prepared to move at a moment’s notice.

“And his mother?”

“None of your business,” Dean responded cold and harsh.

“I’m his Grandfather. I think I have a right to know.”

“Right? _Right_?!” Dean’s hands were balled into tight fists, the tendons in his wrists standing out in sharp relief. “You gave up any rights you had regarding us back in North Carolina. You remember North Carolina, right, Dad? Where you practically served us up to a werewolf’s mate who was looking for payback? Where you were prepared to let Sam die from pneumonia to keep him away from someone trying to help him? Someone who knew truths you were hiding that damn near got Sam killed? You have no rights. Not now, not ever again.” Dean was shaking as he spat out the last few words.

Sam watched John carefully during Dean’s rant, noting the man’s reactions as his brother vented the anger and resentment he’d felt for the past year. The eldest Winchester’s face paled at Dean listing his most recent wrongs against his children and his eyes held a glimmer of regret.

“I’m sorry.” John stopped at Sam’s derisive snort. “I know that apologies are inadequate, but I really am sorry. I saw Casey and all I could think about was Becca. You know about Becca, Casey’s mother?” Dean nodded tersely, fearing another outburst if he opened his mouth. “She wanted to take you when you were little, said she could protect you. I didn’t believe her. She didn’t protect Mary, why should I believe she could keep you safe. Then here’s her daughter with my sons. It was obvious you trusted her. Hell, Sam called for her. You trusted her and hated me.”

“But Becca did protect us. She was the one that warned you the Shtriga was after us, wasn’t she? It killed her that night it attacked Sam, right?” Dean had pieced together enough from Bobby’s story to know that two motherless children were the reason that another child grew up the same way.

John lowered his head, hands twisted and fingers interlaced, a silent admission laced in shame. “I made a mistake.”

“And the werewolf? Was that a mistake too,” Sam snapped.

John’s chin lifted, an odd look marring his features and understanding struck Dean. “No, it was a test. It was a fucking test to see if we would realize there was another one. Son of a bitch!”

John looked down at his hands again. The rhythmic ticking of the clock above the sink the only noise until a squeal of pure joy from the study cracked the heavy silence. Dean roused from his musings first, the baby’s happiness a reminder of other more pressing issues.

“Dad, maybe you should leave. This isn’t the best time for a Winchester family reunion.” Dean sounded tired and world weary.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Joey will be six months old on Sunday.” Sam’s had that deadened look again. John’s eyes widened in understanding, fear tinged the edges were years had lined the skin.

“I want to help.” The older man’s voice was determined.

“Dad,” Dean started, but was interrupted.

“He’s my grandson. I have to help. I won’t let that bastard hurt any more of my family.”

The fire Dean saw ignite in his father’s eyes the night his mother died, flared and transformed John’s features into something primal. He traded a glance with Sam who nodded stiffly.

“Okay.”

*****

  
“You know in a long history of strange Thanksgivings, this one has to have been the weirdest.” Dean’s voice followed Sam into the bedroom they had shared at Bobby’s since they were children.

Bending over the crib railing – a present from Bobby for when they visit - to put the sleeping infant cradled in his arms down for the night, he had to agree. “It was definitely…interesting.”

“Interesting? Sammy, the air was stiffer than those mashed potatoes Bobby made. Next year, you cook. I don’t think I could choke down another meal like that. I swear the guy missed his calling as a prison cook.” Dean chuckled at his own joke when he noticed the quiet from the other side of the room. He’d at least expected a groan of disgust.

Sam stood between the twin beds that lined opposing walls of the bedroom, a perplexed wrinkle vertically bisecting his forehead. The last time they stayed here, it was routine to move the beds together at night and separate them in the morning. The night before they had followed that practice, but Sam looked unsure where they stood since their father’s arrival. Deciding to put his brother at ease, Dean moved to his bed by the door and picked up the headboard with a raised eyebrow. With a relieved exhale, Sam crossed to the footboard and lifted to move the bed over.

Beds arranged and teeth brushed, Dean returned to their room to find Sam standing next to Joey’s crib, long fingers gripping the rail tight. Sliding strong arms around a slim waist, Dean pressed his body up behind the younger man. Lips discovered an exposed patch of skin below silken curls and above the cotton collar and Dean pressed a calming kiss to Sam’s neck. “You doing okay?”

Sam sighed and let his head fall back on Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah, I… What do you think about this crap with Dad?”

Ghosting another kiss to Sam’s neck, it was Dean’s turn to sigh. He rested his forehead on the broad shoulder before him and rolled his head from side to side. “I don’t know. I think he wants to try and make things right. Especially now he knows about Joey. But, I hope he understands that things aren’t okay just because he says sorry, probably won’t be for a long time, and that if he wants to have a relationship with us and Joey then he’s gonna have to put in the work.”

“Journey of a thousand miles?” Sam smiled softly, turning in Dean’s arms to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Exactly.” Dean grinned, offering a kiss of his own. “If he wants to be a part of our lives - yours, mine, and Joey’s – he’s going to have to make an effort. He’s going to have to take that first step.”

*****

Having Dad around again, Dean felt like he was perpetually three sheets to the wind. That odd sensation where the world was tilted and your steps were unsteady. Then… _before_ , Dean was constantly in the middle of a war of words between his unyielding father and defiant brother, maintaining a desperate neutrality in the face of two superforces vying for his allegiance. Now… _after_ , he’d chosen a side, shifted his role from passive mediator to active participant, and it was a bit off-putting to see the battle from the trenches rather than the sideline. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if he’d chosen sides long ago if their lives would be different now, but then he looked into the blue-green depths of Joey’s eyes and knew he wouldn’t have his life any other way.

John’s arrival with his admittedly inadequate apology created a tremulous cease fire, all three men determined to make an effort for Joey’s sake. Dean found himself part of a creepy visual version of round robin. He watched John suspiciously for signs that the man would hurt his family again, John watched Sam fondly while his youngest interacted with his son, Sam watched Joey anxiously on alert for anything that might be coming for him, and Bobby watched the four of them warily in the hopes his home wouldn’t become ground zero in a Winchester nuclear bomb. Sometimes the brothers found their positions in the order switched, but it always came down to one of them studying their father while the man studied the other.

Saturday night ended with them all in the study: Bobby and John at the desk discussing a rare piece of lore regarding skinwalkers, Dean cheering from the couch as the Jayhawks scored another touchdown against the Wyoming Cowboys, and Sam, in the antique rocking chair near the fire, humming soft and low to Joey with Rumsfeld asleep at his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed that John was only half-listening to Bobby’s narrative, mind preoccupied with the soothing scene Sam and Joey portrayed.

“He’s finally out. I think I’ll go put him down.” Sam stood, Bobby and Dean following suit to press good-night kisses to soft wisps of hair as they had the previous evenings. Sam paused at John’s side, eyebrows raised in question. John flicked surprised eyes from Sam to Dean, standing so close to his brother their shoulders touched, and saw the same inquiring look.

A united front.

Slowly, he stood and took a step closer so he could lower his lips to his grandson’s forehead. Sam smiled slightly and dipped his head in a sharp nod then carried the sleeping boy up to bed. John and Dean remained standing, gazes following Sam until the study wall blocked his ascension from their view.

“Was he humming…,” John trailed off, looking straight ahead.

“‘Whiter Shade of Pale’? Yeah. Every night he rocks him to sleep.” Dean kept his focus forward as well.

“Do you?” John swallowed around the lump in his throat, mind filled with images of his sons curled up in the back seat of the Impala as he drove them into the darkness of another horror.

“No.” John’s heart clenched before Dean continued, “I sing ‘Hey Jude’ on my nights.”

John’s breath caught and for the first time since that terrible night that changed their lives, he blinked back tears. “I know that Joey is Sam’s, Dean, but for what it’s worth you’re both excellent fathers. Your mother would be so proud of you.” John squeezed Dean’s shoulder on his way outside, mumbling about needing air.

Behind Dean, a growling voice muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

*****

Dean woke slowly to the sound of soft mewls and fleece covered feet rubbing restlessly against cotton sheets. Swallowing his groan, he lightly kissed Sam’s forehead and waited for his brother to roll over, freeing him from his Sammy blanket. He hefted his body out of bed, idly glancing at the clock, as he moved to the crib.

Six A.M. Little guy is really getting this whole sleeping through the night thing down.

Joey laid in the crib, wide eyed and feet pumping. Seeing Dean, his arms and legs flailed, jerking excitedly.

“Hey, Joey. Let’s get you a bottle and let Daddy sleep some more.” Dean scooped up the little boy, snatched a diaper and some wipes and padded down the stairs.

The light was on in the kitchen and the smell of coffee hung heavy and fragrant in the air. Blinking at the brightness, Dean stumbled toward the refrigerator. John sat at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee with the local paper spread across the table’s surface.

“Morning, Dean.” John glanced up from his perusal of the newsprint.

“Morning,” Dean greeted, pulling the bottle Sam prepared the night before from the fridge. He set it in the warmer on the counter, grabbing one of Joey’s blankets draped over the back of a chair. He spread the blanket on the floor and settled Joey down to change his pants. Finished, he stood and plucked the bottle from the electronic device and shook it with practiced ease. He turned to sit at the table and noticed his father staring at him with an uncertain expression on his face.

“What’s wrong? I got bed head or something?” Dean set the bottle on the table and ran a smoothing hand over his hair.

“No. I was just wondering if I…never mind.” John shook his head and returned his attention to the paper.

“If what, Dad?” Dean growled, not caffeinated enough for riddles or games.

“Would it be okay if I gave him his bottle?”

Dean blinked twice in shocked confusion before gathering his wits. “Uh, sure. If you want. Just, uh, wash the ink off your fingers or Sam’ll have both our heads.”

Dean waited for him to clean his hands then transferred Joey into John’s open arms. He waited a moment to see if Joey would object, but the boy settled right into the embrace. Dean passed over the bottle and went in search of coffee.

Sam appeared shortly after eight, rubbing sleep from his eyes, heart pounding at waking alone…today. He stopped short at the archway into the kitchen, wondering if he was actually awake or having a strangely vivid dream. Dean was leaning back against the counter, coffee cradled between his hands, Bobby stood at the stove, spatula agitating eggs in a skillet, and Joey was nestled in John’s lap, tiny fingers scratching at the short beard on his grandfather’s face.

“Uh, hey.” Sam moved to Dean’s side to pour a cup of coffee with trembling hands.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean bumped him gently with his hip when Sam set the decanter back in the coffeemaker. Bobby grunted his hello from Dean’s other side.

“Hey, Sam.” His Dad’s voice had him spinning around. It was affectionate and tender, a timbre Sam had never heard before. The warmth evident in his voice was mirrored on the older Winchester’s face and Sam started to believe that if he could keep his family safe until tomorrow, there might be a place in it for John after all.

*****

If Dean thought Sam had been on edge for the last month, it was nothing compared to today. Sam’s arms shook so bad that earlier in the day the other three men agreed that for Joey’s own safety it was best Sam didn’t hold him. Sam was distracted and jumpy, refusing to let his son out of his sight. At lunch time, Bobby joked that maybe he should spike Sam’s food with a sedative and Dean was half-tempted to allow him. It wasn’t that Dean wasn’t worried, but he figured that Joey needed one parent today that wasn’t on the verge of a mental break. Bobby and John stayed quiet and contemplative, discussing strategies in muted tones and tracking Sam’s frantic movements and Dean’s outwardly calm ones with concerned eyes. Everyone prepared for a showdown that no one was sure was coming or that they were ready for.

Dean rocked a sleeping Joey, singing the last line of his hand me down lullaby in a low-pitched voice barely audible to the other members of the room over the crackle of the fire. Standing to carry the small child upstairs, John’s hand stopped him mid-rise.

“Just wait a little longer.” John’s tone was pleading, begging Dean to trust him.

Dean sat back down and resumed his rocking. When the clock on the wall ticked over to 8:12, John’s breathing stopped and didn’t start again until the minute hand moved to next line. At 8:13, John nodded that Dean could take the boy upstairs. After good night kisses, Bobby followed Dean to begin the first watch.

Dean tucked a blanket around Joey, snuggling him beneath the handmade softness, and went to the window to draw the curtains closed. His fingers curled into the fabric window dressings when something caught his eye. Straining for a better look, he relaxed and made his way down the stairs to the front door.

“I’ll be right back. Want to get something out of the Jeep,” Dean called over his shoulder, stepping out into the frigid night air.

He walked calmly over to the red muscle car and sat on the hood next to the owner. Rumsfeld, who’d been resting his head on the owner’s foot perched on the bumper, tracked his movements with content eyes before lying on the ground in front of the car. “How did you get here without us hearing the car?”

“Pushed it.”

“Huh, really?” Casey nodded. “So, where’ve you been?” He asked casually, peering into the depths of the salvage yard.

“Off to find the hero of the day.” Her piercing stare was trained on the house.

“Metallica. Nice. At least Joey stands a chance of having good taste in music.”

Casey shrugged. She squinted, her eyes roaming over the outside of the house before finally settling on the window to Sam and Dean’s room. A thick silence fell over them and Dean felt its oppressive pressure in his chest like a tangible weight. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Joey’s six months old. It was possible my son was in danger. Where else would I be?” She leaned forward, arms resting on her thighs.

He swallowed hard, having to ask, but needing a minute to remind his mouth how to work.

“Is it coming for Joey?”

Casey’s chocolate brown orbs slid off the house to fixate unfocusedly on a point of nothingness above the roofline. She remained stone still and Dean waited, knowing that the answer would either confirm or lessen their fears. Her face scrunched in pain, eyelids fluttering, head shaking and he held his breath.

“No,” she whispered, strong conviction lacing her words.

“You sure?” Dean tilted his head back, field of vision filled with star dotted black. Despite his best attempts, hope flared in his chest.

“Yeah.”

“You mind coming inside and telling Sam that before I have to have him committed to the loony bin?” Dean nudged her side with his elbow, heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

Casey looked at the truck parked next to the house and then back to the second story window. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Casey, if this is about Dad…”

“It’s not just him. You have no idea how hard it was to walk away from Joey the first time. I don’t think I would survive doing it again.” She cleared her throat, unshed tears strangling her words, and rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Dean. Be his Dad, help Sam raise him. Make my sacrifice matter.” She faced him for the first time since he came outside and smiled. “You should go back inside. John and Sam will wonder what’s keeping you.”

“Casey, about Dad. What’s your take?” Dean stood and wiped the dust from his hands and the seat of his jeans.

“Your father’s intentions and motivations are sincere. He really wants to be a part of your lives. Just be careful and remember, he’s still John Winchester.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean studied her expression, but her face refused to betray anything.

“Leopards and spots, Dean. Don’t expect miracles. And watch out for Joey. If he inherits my gifts, John can sometimes be a bit much.” Casey hopped down from the hood and brushed her hands together. The dozing dog jumped to his feet and nuzzled her hand, seeking affection. She pet the dark fur then motioned with her hand for him to go to the porch, Rumsfeld immediately obeying.

“Vague much? Care to elaborate.”

“Your father deals in lies, bases his life around them. They flow from him easier than the truth does for most people. For someone who can judge fact from fiction, it can be overwhelming. If Joey has that talent, then John will have to work on his honesty when he’s around.”

“But we’re talking years down the road, right? Don’t you guys get your mojo at puberty?”

“Normally yes, but I was three when mine started to develop. He’s already strong. I can feel him all the way out here. It’ll probably be sooner than you think.” She moved to the driver’s side door, well-oiled hinges opening soundlessly.

“Wait!” Dean pulled the keys to the Jeep from his pocket and unlocked the door. Reaching in, he opened the console where he’d placed his and Sam’s wallets the day John arrived. John was smart and Dean wouldn’t put it past him to rifle through their things to find out where they were living. He slipped a picture out of his wallet and closed the console lid. Pushing the button on the remote to lock the car again, he walked over to Casey and pressed the picture in her hand. Fingers curled around the glossy paper as Casey’s eyes fluttered shut and her lips curled into a watery smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning over to place a soft kiss to his mouth. “And Dean? Don’t worry so much, you’ll get wrinkles on that handsome face.” Casey ran a hand gently over his face and closed the door.

“You’re welcome,” Dean mumbled, trudging up the front stairs.

*****

“Dean? Is everything okay?” The thinly veiled panic in Sam’s voice was too much for Dean to bear.

“Everything’s fine, Sammy. Don’t worry. Nothing is coming for Joey.” Dean infused as much confidence as he could muster into the soothing words.

“How do you know that?” John rumbled from his place behind Bobby’s desk.

The Judge roared to life outside, the sound of tires kicking up gravel echoing after.

“Reliable source.” Dean leveled a knowing look at his brother.

“Is she sure?” Sam breathed.

“Would she leave if she wasn’t?”

Sam collapsed to the ground, a marionette with its strings cut, as a solid month of worry and sleeplessness took their toll on his body. Dean dropped to his side and cupped Sam’s face in his hands. Tears of relief blurred the hazel orbs, spilling over the corners to run silently over pale cheeks.

“It’s okay, Sammy. Our family is okay.”

*****

The next morning the four men sat bleary eyed around the kitchen table, each clutching a cup of coffee hoping it would chase away the sleeplessness. A bright eyed, well-rested, 6 month and 1 day old little boy was happily gurgling in his father’s lap completely oblivious that he was the reason for the tired, red-rimmed eyes all around him.

Dean stood and dumped the last swallow of ice cold coffee left in his mug down the drain. Setting the cup in the sink, he pivoted and relaxed weary muscles against the porcelain.

“Dean?” Sam turned his head to the side and addressed his brother over his shoulder. “We need to get on the road soon. I have class tomorrow and you’ve got work. Why don’t you go try to catch some Zs? I’ll stay up with Joey and sleep on the way home.”

“You sure, Sammy,” Dean said around a yawn that Sam’s mention of sleep induced.

“Yeah. I’ll get our things together so we can leave when you wake up.” Sam bounced Joey on his knees, making the small boy laugh as he recited a rhyme about a horsey and rider.

“Don’t have to twist my arm.” Dean moved to head upstairs when their father’s voice stopped him.

“Boys?”

“Yeah, Dad.” Dean stifled another yawn.

“Where does this leave us?” John looked almost scared to hope.

Sam and Dean traded glances that left the two older men believing a silent conversation was taking place. Dean sat back down and folded his hands together on the table.

“Dad, we want you to be a part of our lives, Joey’s life, but we have to take it slow. This weekend has been nice; however, building back our trust is going to take time. I’m not ready to tell you where we live or how to find us. We’re not there yet. But,” Dean paused, catching Sam’s eye, “we plan on bringing Joey to see his Grandpa Bobby every couple months and we’d like to see his Grandpa John at the same time. Right now, that’s the best we can offer.”

Everyone waited quietly for John’s answer. The boys weren’t conceding too much, but it was more than John had for over a year. He wanted to see his sons, watch his grandson grow up, and the only way that would happen was to play by their rules. He would work hard and one day earn their trust again. He had a lot to make up for, a lot to atone for. He may not have been the best father to his boys, but he was determined to be a great grandfather to his grandson.

“Slow. I can live with that,” John smiled softly.

  
  



End file.
